A Valuable Employee
by Quen Galad
Summary: History needs butchers as well as shepherds, and she is one of the former. Lord Vetinari has given many criminals a chance to repay their debts to society, but how do they feel about that? Rated M for language and mature themes.
1. Chapter 1

In the quiet darkness of the Oblong Office, the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork glanced at three worried faces over his fingertips.

"I assure you, my lord, that we have no idea what happened to the wretched thing" said the president of the Guild of Historians. "You recall, of course, that it was taken from the Museum in the Year of the Surprised Duck and stored in the palace ever since."

"Not quite" said the Patrician. The expressions of his guests, which were already turning hopeful, froze again. "It has, in fact, been moved to the palace, but after the whole dragon business all that remained of the palace treasury has been transported back to the Museum."

The head of the Guild of Historians glanced nervously at the director of Ankh-Morpork Museum, who cleared his throat.

"Well, this resolves it" he said, a little too quickly. "It must have been destroyed by the dragon, since we haven't found it in our records."

"Indeed?" Vetinari selected a document from the neat pile on his desk. "I have here an excerpt from _The Artefacts of Ankh_, where an immensely interesting essay on the nature of this very object has been written, by, I am pleased to inform you, yourself."

The director threw a frightened glance at the single piece of paper. "It states, among other things," Vetinari continued, calmly scrutinising the document, "that the artefact, which you had in your possession and therefore could examine at leisure, has proven to be indestructible in the face of your and your colleagues' most... creative efforts."

"I, ah... Well, not _entirely_ indestructible... Dragon fire would surely..." the curator stammered. The chief historian came to his aid mercifully.

"Naturally, any research would not include experiments with dragon fire, least of all _Draco Nobilis_" he said, hoping to remove any doubts by a show of his competence. "Swamp dragons can sometimes be used for this purpose, only if lady Ramkin doesn't find out, of course, ahaha, but..."

The Patrician waved him to silence. "Nevertheless, gentlemen, the Device has not been destroyed, it has been stolen. From the Museum." He turned to the third man, who has remained silent so far. "I know you are aware of this, or I am sure you would not have come here in the company of Mr. Slant."

Ankh-Morpork's most famous, or most notorious, lawyer returned the stare blankly. "My position here is strictly advisory, your lordship" he said. „And I would like to point out that you seem to know much more about the matter than these gentlemen."

"It certainly appears so."

"In that case" continued Slant, whose patience was not going to be disturbed by a mere double-edged remark, "I advise you let these gentlemen return to their duties. Unless you find them responsible, and intend to prefer charges, my lord?"

"I'd _prefer_ the truth, Mr Slant." Vetinari stared at the assembled men once more. "However, I see an absence of a lie shall have to do in this case. Very well, gentlemen, thank you."

He turned to his papers. The men milled about uncertainly, as people did when cut off by Vetinari in his signature manner.

Finally they departed, leaving the Patrician alone in the dark office, with a single pool of light provided by the candlestick on his desk. For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the scribbling of Vetinari's quill pen. Then, without raising his head, he spoke.

"Do sit down, Miss Addler. In a chair, perhaps?"

There was just the faintest of sounds as a figure dropped from the rafters and approached the desk. It was completely shrouded in some nondescript clothing, hooded and cloaked ; little more than a moving shadow. Its voice, coming from the depths of the hood, sounded like a whisper even though the person was not, in fact, whispering.

"I _know_ I made no sound. And you couldn't have smelled anything with Slant here!"

Vetinari finished his writing and neatly shuffled the paper away. He put the pen in its inkwell and raised his eyes at the figure.

"Quite so, Miss Addler. I have, however, entrusted you with the task of guarding Mr Slant, and since he was here, naturally, so were you. You have stayed behind, so I assume there is something you might want to tell me."

Oh gods, she thought, he's raising his eyebrows at me again. He's sitting there calmly, his palms joined at the fingertips, and he knows he's already breached all my defences, so all he has to do now is raise his eyebrows at me. The bastard.

She pulled herself together, or at least tried to give the impression of doing so. "Nothing definite" she said, pushing her hood back. Dark blonde hair caught the candlelight. "He's been meeting some of our suspects, but nothing proves he's had anything to do with it. He is being very cautious, however. Are you sure it was not the dwarfs?"

"I doubt it. The Dark Dwarfs know that our city is not safe for them any longer. Besides, they have already staged one robbery at the Museum, and it was in a different style altogether."

"Yes, well, they know we know that, don't they..."

Vetinari looked at her for a moment longer than was strictly necessary. "Indeed. Anything else, Miss Addler?"

"As I said, not much." She unfastened the cloak and took her gloves off, noticing he ignored this completely. "Money withdrawn from official accounts only, no outrageous amounts of course, some jewels acquired here and there... It can mean something, but it might not."

Damn you, she thought, I'm undressing here and you're turning your back? All right, taking off a cloak and gloves is not very erotic in itself, but she was equipped with some deadly stuff and he knew it... Meaning daggers and throwing knives, of course, she added hurriedly.

And he's turning his back on me again, while we both know nobody's aware I'm here or even that I exist. And that I could put a blade in his wretched cold heart right now if I wanted to.

_Damn! He just knows I don't want to, doesn't he..._

"I see." Vetinari's voice cut through her anger. „Thank you, Miss Addler, you may retire." And now he's going to turn his attention to the paperwork, she thought. He always does that, switching me on and off like some clockwork toy. It really makes me livid, and he knows that, too. She stood up, a little faster than she meant.

"So you don't want me tonight?" she asked, before she could stop herself. Damn you, you could at least raise that damn eyebrow _now_, you bastard!

"Your most fastidious scrutiny has given us very little. I'm afraid other arrangements have to be made. So," he looked up and suddenly, his calm stare was piercing her right through, "I believe I do not, in fact, want you tonight, Miss Addler."

She swallowed, feeling like a butterfly must feel under a pin and a magnifying glass. Damn you, Vetinari! She cleared her throat, gathered her things and left as unheeded as she had arrived.

When talking to almost anyone else, he'd dismiss them with "don't let me detain you". He never said that to her, because, firstly, he was in fact already detaining her, and secondly, he damn well knew she would have let him.

* * *

><p>Author's note<p>

I still can't believe I did this. Writing Discworld fanfiction at all seems borderline sacrilegious to me, but inserting a new character? Ye gods...

I have this story all planned, but so far I've lacked the courage to write it. Please review and help me make the decision - whichever you find appropriate.


	2. Chapter 2

The door shut noiselessly behind her, and a match flared to life. A few moments later the room was wrapped in the warm glow of candles.

Cursing under her breath, Helena Addler took off the rest of her "business" gear. It was all in shades of grey and dark green, soft and dull. With the right movements, it made her as good as invisible, although as a side effect it also made her unattractive, since the one rather hinged on the other. Of course, the Assassin's Guild had very strict views on such things, but she was not a member and one of the benefits of this was that she could ignore their dress code.

"Thank you, Miss Addler, you may retire." His voice was ringing in her ears even now. "Miss Addler", thank you oh so very much! Taking off her underwear, she went to the adjoining bathroom and washed furiously, splashing water from the pump.

A few years ago nobody even knew the name Helena Addler, least of all herself. To the owner of the brothel who has kept her around - because they sure as hell didn't raise her - she was known as "brat". When she'd stolen enough from the clients to make the owners happy, she was a "good brat". If she hasn't, she was a "rotten brat". When she neared the age of thirteen, the owner's husband suddenly started referring to her as "little whore". The word was used constantly around the place and not many people seemed to mind, but she knew this wasn't good.

So when one night he came to the laundry where she slept, shut the door behind him and called her that, she just ran. She was nimble and certainly not over-fed, with a lot of practise as a pickpocket, and she was out through the small window in a flash. She hadn't had a clue as to what she was going to do with herself, but still she ran out into the night, and it seemed she hasn't really halted ever since.

Thus she had no real name, because nobody knew her parents and nobody cared. She only had skills. Oh, she used some, but they weren't her names, just as the money she spent was not her money. She was a thief, a spy, an assassin, it all depended on the needs of the moment. And she was so good at it that she wasn't the most famous rogue in the city. She was the unknown one, and the Shades have proven generous for those who knew how to squeeze them... Up to a point.

Things have gotten tougher in the last couple of years, with all the "specially gifted" watchmen and the Watch suddenly doing its job. She was having her work cut out dodging the guilds and the Watch at the same time and was getting a little nervous. That's probably why she was caught in the palace. Yeah. That was it.

She was going to try and find out whether the rumours about Leonard of Quirm were true. There were people who would pay for that kind of information, or any information at all regarding Vetinari, so she gave it a go. Oh, there were guards, and some of them quite competent, but nothing she couldn't handle. And then...

It was a long time ago, but she remembered it all so vividly. She had paused for a moment in a candle pantry and was just sneaking out into an utterly empty - she made sure of that - corridor, when a precise blow to the back of the knee threw her off balance. Instantly, she tried to bounce off the other leg, but it was scythed from under her in a flash. She fell, rolled over, and suddenly felt a small point of pressure on her throat.

It was not strong, but it didn't need to be: just a small jab would be enough to seriously inconvenience her career. She looked past a length of black walking cane into the impassive eyes of lord Vetinari. With his other arm behind his back.

He studied her face for a moment, one eyebrow raised. Then his gaze swept over her body, taking in her unorthodox attire. She raised her hands very slowly, keeping the palms where he could see them. The game was over, after all.

Then he spoke. And if she thought, before, that he has seized control, then now he has bottled it, lacquered the cork and labelled it. And put it in a cupboard for when he might need it later.

"Ah, you must be Miss Addler. I have heard so much about you."

The woman went pale. She felt the tip of the cane being removed, but it didn't matter any more. Shock was keeping her still even better. "I... You... You have?"

"Indeed. Your... exploits have been upsetting many important people in my city. It was only a matter of time before we met, Miss Addler. Do stand up."

She got up, slowly, as you would when confronting a man who could bring you to the ground with his walking stick and with his arm behind his back. "You... know my name?" she asked.

"I make a point of knowing names. Especially names of interesting people. Please come this way, Miss Addler."

She hurried after him, bewildered, knowing that disobedience was not an option. Wolves, she thought. That's how wolves establish their hierarchy, from what I've heard. He's beaten me and now he's the boss. End of story.

The Patrician led her up a few flights of steps and into a sparse office. She'd been spying on him for some time now and recognised the place. This was the room with two doors, one of which led directly into the scorpion pit. Oh good, so now I know where I stand. Or hang.

Vetinari sat down and gave her one of his long, calm stares. "Miss Addler, I have to commend you on your talents. It seems that neither the guild of Assassins or Thieves are actually aware of your existence, even though you are operating in both their fields."

"Yes, so how come you-" she began, but stopped when he gave her a Look.

"I have no proof of you committing any crimes, of course, so I cannot pass you over to the Watch. Not for sneaking around my corridor and looking suspicious" he went on.

"Yeah, I suppose you don't want to offer them a precedent?" She was more shaken than she would dare to admit and so she was acting stupid. It couldn't be stopped: the more she talked to him, the more nervous she got. And not just because she's been caught.

Vetinari stood up and went to a sideboard, with his back very deliberately exposed. "The guilds, on the other hand, are a different matter. You are still a young woman, Miss Addler. Can I invite you to consider your future carefully?"

"No, let us talk about the past first! How do you know that's my name?"

"It is only a matter of assessing information, I assure you. Hardly difficult."

"Really? That's funny, you know! Because up till now, _I_ had no idea that's my name, and I'm _me_."

Lord Vetinari's eyebrows went up for a moment. "Indeed? I suppose it's understandable in your case. Your name," he went on, before she had the chance to shout, "is Helena Addler. You are the daughter of one Elizabeth, or "Elspet" Addler, an washerwoman and, let us say, herb pedlar of Lancrastian origins, and a gentleman known only as Grim George, a man of many talents, most of which are best forgotten. I assure you the union was a happy one, up to the point where they had to leave the city."

_How the hell_ does he know these things? her mind screamed. He catches me in the act and five minutes later he's an expert on my ancestry, which I didn't know I had?

Unless, her treacherous mind supplied, he's been aware of you all along and just waiting for his moment... She swallowed. "And... They left me at the whorehouse?"

"Your parents have made many enemies, Miss Addler, as I am sure you can imagine. They also had some friends, and to one of them, a young lady of negotiable affection, they have entrusted their daughter. Unfortunately, the lady in question ended up in the establishment you have mentioned, where the unsympathetic owners took the child away." He looked directly into her eyes, which were suspiciously red-rimmed. "I am told the girl escaped one night and was never seen again."

"Yes, well, it was hardly an appropriate environment. But how-"

Vetinari shook his head sadly. "Oh dear. You did not really expect to remain unnoticed, did you? Miss Addler, I am told that poultry farmers always know when there is a fox around. Foxes are known for their stealth and cunning, far too skilled for mere humans to notice. Yet their visits to the henhouse always result in eggs gone missing, animals being alarmed and other tell-tale details. Therefore," he stopped for a moment. The other half of this dialogue seemed too shaken to think clearly, so the Patrician sighed and poured a glass of brandy. "Therefore, as the man in charge of the henhouse, so to speak, I would invite you once again to reconsider the direction your life has taken."

He handed her the brandy. She took a solid swig, then another. "All right, I see where this is going. You are either going to throw me to the guilds, or make me work for you, right?"

The Patrician was a tall man, and was towering over her right now. He wasn't pointing his cane at her throat, but he didn't need to, not any more. He just smiled, which was much, much worse.

"I admit I could definitely use a young woman such as yourself, Miss Addler."

Well, that was then. And now, several years later, she was still Vetinari's puppet, spying on people, killing people and never, ever being able to cut the strings. Oh, she could walk the city freely and sometimes even travelled abroad, but it didn't matter, because he'd trapped her once and so he could always do it again. He probably wouldn't kill her, since she was a valuable employee, but then again, the man had a knack for finding those in abundance. When you got right down to it, the only truly irreplaceable person was him.

Speaking of getting right down to it, her subconscious hissed, you are making a rather pitiful attempt at lying to me, aren't you? But we both know the shackles in your mind are so much more effective than those on your wrists. And you cannot steal the key to those, no matter how good you are. Nor can you force him to give it to you, because it wouldn't be _it_ any more...

Shut up! Ye gods, the man really was controlling her mind. And not just that, either. Well, the pent-up frustration was driving her mad, no question about it ; maybe when this damn Device business is over, she could persuade him to let her go. After all, he seems to know all about her, so he must realise she cannot go on like this any longer. Although, if he does know everything, her fantasies are probably making him a bit uneasy. Hopefully.

She went to bed, trying to put his image out of her mind. In vain, of course, because once Vetinari has taken hold of you, he wasn't going to let go just because you _want_ him to, and even less if you actually don't.


	3. Chapter 3

_Bloody pistol crossbows! Bloody barbed bloody crossbow bolts! And damn those thugs, bloody alert stupid underlings of the week!_

Cursing helped. When you have to escape pursuit while injured, bleeding, and only half-conscious, it's good to have something to focus on. The mist wavered before her eyes, her feet skidding on the wet cobbles, but at least she had some answers now. All that was left to do was to ensure she'd manage to pass them on, before... well, passing on.

In the cold, dead fog before the dawn she was just another shape, but so was everything else. Damn! She was on the wrong side of the bloody palace. She'd have to attempt some climbing and her leg wasn't really up to that. On the other hand, five of them were still after her and she was out of throwing knives. Whatever pay they get, it can't be the only thing that's motivating them or they would have given up twice by now.

All right, there's nothing to it, not if she wants to live. Never mind the blood loss, it can't be that big in the first place 'cause she's still upright, eh? And if they catch up, they're damn well going to make sure she's not. So there. She _will_ make it to Vetinari, damn it!

From the depths of a greyish hood there was a strange little noise. It sounded like an attempt at a hollow, mirthless laugh would sound if made by someone whose life was quietly draining away.

:::::

"Today's _Times_, my lord" said Drumknott, placing the paper and a cup on his master's desk, where it rattled for a moment. The Patrician was standing by the window, his hands behind his back, glaring at the rooftops as if they had personally offended him.

"Thank you, Drumknott. Is something the matter?"

"No, my lord" said the secretary hastily. "It is rather uninteresting today, I must say."

"Well, life can't all be fun" said Vetinari solemnly, getting behind the desk. As usual, they applied themselves to everyday matters of the city, but the secretary, while not distracted, definitely did have something on his mind. Finally, he unveiled his worries.

"My lord, you do not really believe the director of Ankh-Morpork Museum has run off with a dwarf chainmail model?"

Havelock Vetinari was not often taken aback, but he was now. "Whatever gave you that idea, Drumknott?"

"Well, I heard that's what you said yesterday, at the reception for..." the secretary began.

"Please, Drumknott" the Patrician waved a placating hand. "I merely pointed out that the alleged mystery of the director's disappearance has been covered extensively by the _Inquirer_ in the tone which you have just summed up. I see the _Times_, on the contrary, quotes one of the man's assistants, who says the director has been planning a journey to Genua for some time now. Hardly mysterious at all."

The clerk watched his master's face for a moment, but gave up. "Indeed, my lord. Shall I see to the overnight reports from our street operatives?"

"Please do, Drumknott."

When the secretary left, lord Vetinari read the short note in the _Times_ once more. It was getting harder to keep any information secret, but this time some serious effort was put into things. The paper, and by consequence the public mind, was simply not a suitable place for discussing a sensational theft which could result in the city's financial ruin and a crisis in Ankh-Morpork's relations with the dwarfs.  
>Again.<p>

The Patrician sighed and put the paper away. The Undertaking seemed to be such a well thought-out idea. The Devices acquired by the city during the recent events could be put to so many good uses the artificers were running out of vocabulary to name them. The Post Office and the City Mint were fully operative, and the ethnic tensions have subsided a little : a perfect moment to start.  
>And suddenly, a group of dwarf scholars visiting the Ankh-Morpork Museum explained that one of the older and more pointless exhibits was, in fact, also a type of Device, which could be very, very dangerous to other Devices if it got into wrong hands. And once someone uses the words "if it got into wrong hands", it's only a matter of time.<p>

Drumknott would be busy with the reports for at least half an hour. Lord Vetinari opened the window and asked the gargoyle perched outside to check on the guards on the roof.

:::::

The wall danced before her eyes, which is something that respectable stone walls shouldn't do, even in Ankh-Morpork. Well, outside University grounds, at least. She was dimly aware of a crossbow bolt which whirred past her head and buried itself in a crack. Hah, that which does not kill us makes us live, she thought as she used the bolt to pull herself up. It broke under her weight just as she grabbed the marble parapet and hung by her fingertips for a while. Pushing up with her good leg she managed to crawl up the parapet which was wide enough to protect her from their crossbows. She lay there, panting, and wondered if she could perhaps get some help. She worked for the government, right? Surely she was entitled to some help in a situation like this, right?

_Wrong_, her bloody reason supplied. The whole arrangement hinges on the fact that no one, absolutely no one, knows about you. You're supposed to be good enough not to _need_ help, remember?

Trouble was, the wound was open and still bleeding, albeit slowly. She was completely exhausted and knew she might not survive another few yards, skills or no skills. Getting help would be the sensible thing to do when she had important information to share. That would surely count, wouldn't it?

Oh yes, her damn inner voice said again. He'd certainly appreciate you didn't jeopardize the information flow. So he'd get someone to patch you up, and he'd listen to you without talking. But then your cover'd be blown, so he'd have no reason to keep you around, see? As a token of his gratitude he might let you live, just as long as you never come back. You could start afresh in Quirm, or Pseudopolis, and never, ever clap your eyes on him again...

The woman rolled over and resumed her slow climb, cursing Havelock Vetinari every step of the way.

:::::

Some time after the gargoyle had left, the window in the Patrician's office opened again, letting in the bustle of the city and shouts of guards from below. There was a soft thud, almost unheard among those everyday noises, but lord Vetinari was suddenly up. Then he stopped and frowned at a dishevelled grey shape lying on the floor. As he watched, the pile of cloth moved and produced something akin to a head ; then it unwound further, revealing Helena Addler, struggling to get on her knees, still hooded but without her cloak and with her leg soaked in blood.

Lord Vetinari raised his eyebrows as he approached her and placed two fingers on her neck. There was a pulse, but very faint, so the blood on her was probably her own. There was a stained dagger in her hand and an unfocused look in her eyes.  
>She tried to stand up, but only succeeded in crawling up a wall. Lord Vetinari grabbed her by the arm and felt practically no strength there, no resistance. She just hung from his shoulder limply and stared at him dreamily for some time. Finally, she whispered, "My lord... My lord..."<p>

This seemed to be it for a moment. Then, "The director... safe. Gave names" and with a sigh, she collapsed.

:::::

When Drumknott entered the Oblong Office again, the Patrician was shutting the window. A gargoyle was perched just outside it.

"Ah, Drumknott. What was that commotion outside?"

"A group of private guards claimed they chased an unlicensed thief to the palace grounds. I have instructed the palace guard to make a search."

"I see. Please pass me the file on the grags, Drumknott."

The secretary produced a thick file, made even heavier by the addition of some stone plates. Dwarfs took their books seriously.

As he moved to place the pile conveniently on the desk, something caught his eye. On the floor, right underneath the window, a dark stain was _almost_ unnoticeable on the dark wood, save for the fact that it reflected the light differently. Rufus Drumknott led a singularly unexciting life, at least by common standards, and wasn't an expert on either anatomy or hand-to-hand combat, but somehow he knew, with absolute certainty, that it was fresh blood. And lord Vetinari has just been standing by the window...

The Patrician didn't look up from the paperwork. "Is something wrong, Drumknott?" he asked briskly.

"I was just... Thinking about the thief, my lord."

"Indeed? Personally, I'm rather grateful to the man. Even the palace guard needs some exercise from time to time" said Vetinari, dipping his quill pen in the inkwell with a precise movement. For the second time today, the clerk sought to read something, anything, in the steel-cold eyes.

"Yes, my lord. Although I cannot imagine a thief, licensed or not, who might hope to hide on the palace grounds, even if they're new to the city." There was a hook in the sentence, albeit a tiny one. But Vetinari returned his clerk's stare calmly while his hand hovered over the inkwell, the quill held absolutely still in long, slim fingers.

"Quite so, Drumknott. Therefore I think he just passed through on his way to somewhere else" he said. A drop of black ink swelled on the tip of the quill and hovered there, tantalizingly.

Drumknott could not stop his eyes from flickering over to the bloodstain and back to lord Vetinari's _very_ steady hand. He swallowed.

"Yes, my lord. Somewhere safer."


	4. Chapter 4

Darkness, fever and pain poured down on her, creating a sticky, sickening cocktail.

She was lying down in something that might have been a bed, but not her own, because it had a different smell. Why was it so bloody dark? Oh, right, her eyes were closed. But what caused all this pain?  
>A quick internal examination revealed that it was, in fact, everything.<p>

For a long while she just lay in the dark, straining her ears to hear every little sound and perhaps get some clues as to the situation. It seemed that she was alone here, wherever this was, although strange mechanical sounds were coming from behind a wall. It wasn't a large room, by the feel of it, but it was cool and the air had this characteristic, unused smell, mixed with a touch of... glue? And wood shavings? Figuring it was safe enough to show signs of life, she tried to move : there was a dull, painful resistance in her thigh, followed by an explosion in her head. Suppressing a strained yelp, she gave up on moving and finally opened her eyes.

This did not change matters much, as it was still just as dark. There _might_ have been a door in one wall, but this was mostly guesswork brought about by a suggestion of light. Exploring fingers found a wooden edge of a bed, a small pillow under her head, a blanket over her body... They have, however, completely failed to reveal any clothing whatsoever.

The thought spun gently in her feverish brain and for some reason, the face of lord Vetinari seemed somehow involved. Bewildered, she ran her hands over the sweat-covered skin and familiar curves, which got much fuller now that she was getting steady wages. Yes, she was completely naked. She could feel her nipples, hardened by the shivers that ran through her, then her navel with the long scar to the left, the thin patch of short hair even lower... Her hands ran automatically over their own territory until they found a strange, wide expanse of bandage on her thigh. And in the murky swamp of her head, mist finally fell from recent events.

Still touching the bandage dreamily, feeling a mess of stitches underneath, Helena wondered which of her memories were true and which were a mere product of her strained mind. Entering that mansion through the roof was probably real, and sneaking past the guards too... Eavesdropping on the assembled men from the rafters was damn well real and so was – she winced – the gasp she was unable to stop as she realized_ he_ was in danger.

The Guild put him off the register and plotters today mostly tried to work around him, but there was always some madman too confident for his own good and unfortunately, sometimes they could devise some pretty devious plans, which was the case now. Or would have been, if she hadn't got out of there alive. But some guard heard her, and called others, and then things got blurred by speed and action, not to mention stained with blood. That bit when she strangled a man with his own garotte, was _that_ real? And the one where she pushed that other man into the wall, and it turned out there was an iron hook in it, right at his neck level?

She winced again when she remembered that. It was definitely disturbing. Careful checking told her that it was real, too, because she found welts where the guard manhandled her. He clearly intended to "interrogate" her on his own before turning her over to his employer or killing her. As a result, he found out the hard way why it's wrong to grope people uninvited. But she managed to escape, so they'd surely realize the plan was compromised, right?  
><em>Damn, you haven't told anyone, have you...<em>

A second thought came to her head suddenly : the welts were almost healed, so she must have been out for some time. And she still had no idea where she was. Someone has seen to her wounds and put her in a bed, but saw fit to strip her naked and take her weapons away, so their intentions were not necessarily benign. She _thought_ she made it to the palace, but this might have all been just a hallucination brought about by the blood loss and strain. The last thing she remembered before passing out was... Vetinari's face, but this didn't mean anything. He didn't have to be present for her to see his face.

Gritting her teeth at the pain, she rolled over and tried to get up. This only resulted in a swirl of multi-coloured patches before her eyes and a thud of something hitting the wooden floor. Oh yes, it had been her. Apparently she was in worse shape than she thought. Still, you had to be ready for that sort of thing with this job, although this _was_ the first time she had to crawl on all fours in the dark while naked. She reached the place where she thought she might find a door, but it turned out to be shut. Or at least that's what she concluded when she gave the matter some consideration, because she was completely unable to pull herself up high enough to reach the handle.  
>All in all, this meant she'd just exerted herself for no other result than getting into a very embarrassing situation.<p>

_Someone's going to bloody pay for this,_ she decided as the door squeaked open. She heard fast, purposeful footsteps, and then gloved hands reached for her in the dark.

:::::

Lord Vetinari had often wondered why was it that humans found such difficulty in dealing with dwarfs. They were somewhat different, true, but once you found out what made them tick they let themselves be wound up just like anybody else, and were in fact much more reliable when it came to the course they took.

He made a short note on the paperwork in front of him as the venerable grags hurried off. He knew they were hiding a few things from him, but since he knew what it was, he let them get away with it. Coercion can be very efficient, but a wise ruler ignored other means of gaining influence at his peril.

Another thought signalled for his attention at this point, brought about by a digression on the subject of other means of gaining influence. The Patrician looked up at his secretary.

"Drumknott, please make it known that I wish no harm to come to the grags. We might need their calming influence in the near future."

"Yes, my lord" the secretary made the paperwork on the desk dance, exchanging neat piles in a complex pattern. "Might I ask, would you like your wish to extend below ground as well?"

"Indeed. As Commander Vimes remarked very succinctly, the law of Ankh-Morpork goes all the way down. Make the arrangements, will you?"

"Yes, my lord."

Drumknott left the Office with barely a sound. If he was a man to make those kind of observations, he would have noticed how, for the last two days, lord Vetinari has been sending him on a rather time-consuming errand – that is to say, one that could take up to an hour, an enormous amount of time when it came to the Patrician – about two times every day, morning and evening.

However, his unflinching loyalty and unshakeable sense of duty prevented these kind of thoughts, as Vetinari knew they would when he stood up and, so quietly that everyone accept for the best assassins would have been embarrassed, disappeared through a wall.

With speed that only comes from both skill and practice, he made his way through the trap-ridden corridor and into the lofty space occupied by Leonard of Quirm. The elderly man greeted him with his usual enthusiasm.

"My lord! You simply must see this. I have finally overcome the weight problem and all that remains is to find a way of fastening the-"

The Patrician raised a hand. "Please, Leonard. I have very little time. How is the patient?"

"Improving. The wounds are mending and I have in fact been experimenting with new kind of stitching thread-"

"Experimenting?_ On_ Miss Addler?" Only the most perceptive observer would have noticed a faintest glint of an edge in the Patrician's voice.

"Oh no, your lordship! I just thought it might be an area worth investigating. The lady was fine the last time I checked and the only experiments I have allowed myself to perform, as you say, _on_ her were with a new antiseptic mixture and a harder pencil."

"A harder pencil."

"Yes, my lord." Leonard spoke, as was his habit, assuming the other person had the same knowledge as him. "I admit I have indulged myself, making sure no harm comes to the patient, of course, in some... graphic exercise."

Vetinari's eyebrow arched in a way that would make Cosmo Lavish bite his swordstick in half. "_Graphic?_"

"Mostly. I do try to avoid too much light there as I don't want to overexcite the lady." Leonard was already reaching for something lying on a cluttered desk. "So paint is out of the question. Some of those are rather... medical in nature and hardly interesting, but sometimes I admit I just let my hands amuse themselves."

The face of lord Vetinari did not even twitch when he heard this, but there _was_ a certain solidity in his features. Then, realization dawned. "Oh, sketches" he said, in a way that Drumknott would have perhaps recognized as slightly relieved. He took the proffered papersheets and glanced at them.

Leonard's delicate lines not so much spoke of the subject as they recited poetry about it, each thin trace of pencil weaving an enthralling ballad of whatever it was he wanted to draw. And regardless of the nature of the subject, it inevitably became a work of art just because it had been drawn by him. Vetinari stared for a moment at the paper, from where the crunched residue of, essentially, a burned stick, made the reclining form of Helena Addler appear in his inner vision. Her legs sprawled across the tangled bedsheets, her hair dishevelled on the pillow. Each line was exactly right, from the one that showed a gentle curve of her stomach, the other one that plainly showed her straining neck, and yet another one, a smooth round one... He blinked.

"I see" he said. "However, it seems to me that you are exposing the patient to a serious cold, Leonard."

"Oh, I would never do that!" the inventor was aghast. "You see, the lady was in a state of considerable fever and has pushed the blankets off herself while asleep. I have tried to calm her down and cover her back, but this was of no use, not while she was still agitated. So I settled to wait until the dream had passed." Leonard looked at the Patrician nervously, sensing something he did not fully understand. People skills were among the precious few Leonard of Quirm did not, in fact, possess.

"To be sure" said lord Vetinari smoothly. "And do you think she might be conscious and coherent enough to speak to?"

"I do not know. I was rather absorbed with the... thing, you know me and names, your lordship. Let us just go and-" Leonard spoke in his usual, candid tone, but suddenly he became most agitated himself. "Come to think of it, it might be best if I checked first" he breathed, his face strangely coloured. "After all, she might have... when I was occupied..." he bustled off in the direction of the small door at the back of the room, but the Patrician's voice cut him short.

"Might have what, Leonard?" The elderly man spun around to see lord Vetinari right behind him. He'd forgotten how quickly the man could move.

"Well, I... You see, your lordship, between a physician and the patient... Confidentiality..." he mumbled for a moment, but then seemed to reach a decision. "On the other hand, you do have the right to know, since you are involved."

"Involved?"

"Well, in an indirect way I rather think you are, my lord. You see, as I said, the lady is in a state of considerable agitation and..."

"She's having dreams, yes, you mentioned that. And?"

"Well..." Now Leonard was bright red. Too late, the Patrician regretted asking about what he was sure he knew already. "I surmise," Leonard continued, "that the lady has been dreaming, in fact, of you."

:::::

Drumknott was back in the office earlier than he thought, and lord Vetinari was sitting behind the desk as usual. Not really knowing why, the secretary glanced at the window, half expecting the mysterious bloodstain to reappear on the floor below. It had been cleaned away and no mention was ever made about the incident, but the loose end of the matter was worrying him. The palace guard found no trace of the alleged thief other than some dried blood smeared on the eastern wall, of all places, as if a wounded man had been climbing it.

The clerk shook his head to dislodge the obvious conclusion. The Patrician said nothing, and it was therefore clear that whatever happened, he didn't find it vital for Drumknott to know. That was all the conclusion the secretary needed.

He concentrated on the job again. Agents have been despatched to look after the grags. The Watch was investigating the Device's disappearance with all the discretion they could muster, and Drumknott was mildly surprised at how much it turned out to be. Unfortunately, the sensitive nose of justice has been having some problems separating the stench of guilt from the more mundane smells of everyday malignity. Enquiries were continuing, however, and confidential reports were delivered to the palace, where another, more secretive investigation profited of the public one.

And in the meantime, the Undertaking had to start, even though the whole thing could be turned into an enormous disaster by whoever was in possession of the stolen Device. Drumknott was worried about this, too, but the Patrician gave very strict orders in the matter. The city must not be seen fearful, or even hesitating, he'd said. The city does not worry. It strides arrogantly forward, shouting demands, secure in its certainty that they _will_ be obeyed.

Therefore, even though to the best of his knowledge there was no trace of the Disabling Device or of the missing director, Drumknott made sure the demands would, in fact, be obeyed, and returned to the Office.

"I have made the arrangements, my lord" he said quietly.

The Patrician was leafing through yet more paperwork. "Hmm?" was all he said.

"I said I have made the arrangements regarding the grags."

"The grags?" lord Vetinari looked distant for a moment, as if something else than the imminent doom of the Undertaking and subsequently, the city, had been occupying his mind. "Oh, yes. Thank you, Drumknott." He reached for a clean papersheet and scribbled something.

"Please send someone... capable to this address, Drumknott."

"Capable of what, my lord?"

"Capable of escorting the Director of the Ankh-Morpork Museum back to the Palace with minimum exposure. I'm not sure what health will be in, but he _will_ be relieved to get everything off his chest."

"You've received additional reports, my lord?"

"No, Drumknott. I have merely assessed the information already in my possession. And now I should like to talk to the Director before Commander Vimes finds him."


	5. Chapter 5

In the absolute silence of the bedroom her strained breathing seemed deafeningly loud. She clutched at the pillow under her head, twisting her body in every possible way, but there was no way she could escape. There was no way she would want to escape.

His hands were strong, far stronger than she expected from a man so slim, so... bloodless. People always insisted he was a calm, calculating being, utterly devoid of desires. The man is as cold and as orderly as a snowflake, they said ; there is no fire in him, only ice. And now she was finding out just how much passion can be enclosed in ice. At his single touch, a loud moan escaped her - and clashed in her throat with the gasp she gave at the touch that followed. Her breasts heaved violently as she tried to scream and stay silent, to squirm and to lay still at the same time. And all that was caused by small, precise flickers of his tongue.

She was on the verge of injuring her hips by the way she twisted her legs, trying to spread them wider than anatomy allowed. She tried to keep her body still and give him the access she wanted him to have, and at the same time she twisted to bury her face in the pillow. Somehow, she managed it, as her body was always quite nimble. She stuffed her mouth with the white mass and screamed into this makeshift gag as he increased the intensity of his caress, adding fingers to his measured but oh, so talented tongue.

Where did he learn this? He was so good, when did he find the time to practise? She practically wept into the pillow as his merciless teasing finally brought her over the edge, her head almost exploding with bliss and her body shaking convulsively.

It felt as if her mind really did explode, fragments of her consciousness sent flying in all directions, her thoughts disjointed, fractured. In this strange, addled state of mind, in this endless second of climax she realized : he didn't need to practise. By applying his brilliant mind to the task at hand, he could find a way to excel in it by intellectual analysis alone.

Of course, these were not the words that came to her mind. There were no words in the place where she was at that moment, apart from, maybe, _yes, yes yes!_ and _more, more, more... _But she did understand.

And her body was still hot and quivering, she was moaning continuously and didn't even hear that anymore, waves of pleasure still radiating from her very core, when he bit her.

The sharp, hard sensation should have been painful and unpleasant. It really should... but it wasn't. He bit her where she was most tender, most vulnerable – at least, physically speaking – and she loved it, as he had to know she would. So she screamed into the pillow, asking for more, and more she got, until her body was just a shivering wreck and the pillowcase was torn right through.

And then he was gone.

It took her a moment to realize that, her mind not working properly. But there was no doubt about it : he wasn't there. He tormented her to the point of madness, he almost made her hyperventilate to death... and then he left her. Her hands and legs, unwilling to support her, had to be forced into submission. Her breathing was still heavy, although the reason for that had drastically changed. Why, why would he leave now?

At last, she managed to turn around. He was nowhere to be seen, but wasn't there just a faint swish of movement right behind...?

A pair of strong hands grabbed her elbows and pulled them back. She tried to struggle, but only on instinct, as there was no strength left in her, and certainly no will to fight. The grip on her elbows fastened her hands behind her back as good as a leather binding. And then, in the breathless moment, his voice.

"Was that a sigh of relief, Miss Addler?"

There was silence as she tried to regain enough control of her lungs to speak.

"I... I thought you left..."

"And that possibility worried you, did it?"

She answered with an inarticulate moan. Her hips moved on her own, trying to find him... or anything, at that point. She was almost sure she heard a chuckle, and then she was pushed forward, landing on her face in the sheets, her hands immobilized, body supported by her knees only in a most undignified position.

"Now, Miss Addler," she heard his voice again and there was all too much amusement in it, "only one question remains... Can you hear me?"

"Ooh..."

"Miss Addler? Can you hear me?" But this time the voice was different, and then all became a confusing blur.

There was a long moment of silence, thick and strangely portentous. Then, very slowly, Helena Addler opened her eyes. With an expression of panic on her face she tried to pull herself up, looking around as if expecting someone to be behind her. Then her gaze focused on an elderly, bearded man right in front. He was wearing white gloves and holding a brown medicine bottle in his hand.

"Good morning. We have not been formally introduced, have we? My name – but please, drink this – my name is Leonard of Quirm."

"Wha...?"

"You are still weak, I can see that. But this will help you." The man was very amiable in a distracted kind of way, and seemed genuinely concerned. "Please do not be alarmed by the lack of clothing. Lord Vetinari requested me to burn it, you see, and we have not had an occasion to fit you with anything new."

Helena reached to her head. Of course : wounds, fever, medication... She ought to have realized that was just an illness-induced dream. It couldn't have really happened.

"Ah, miss Addler. I see you are up," said a voice that she heard very recently. It seemed just as real now, and she clutched at the blanket desperately, covering her breasts. She was grateful for the dim light, hiding her red face, or at least she hoped it did.

"My lord," she began, straining to sound calm and professional despite the circumstances. "I have important information for you."

"I expect you do, miss Addler. I am most eager to hear it," said Vetinari, appearing from the shadows, "especially since I have been waiting to for two days."

"Yes, well, something came up," she said, trying to act nonchalant and failing.

"Indeed. A few crossbow bolts, Leonard tells me." Vetinari sat down on the side of the bed, and Helena instinctively leaned away. It was all too much and too sudden. She could still remember the dream, and so vividly... She tried to think of cold, dull things, like rain, or snow, or icicles. _No, not icicles!_ "And I am glad to see you up and coherent at last. However, while you were taking your well-earned rest, I had to deal with... Oh, so many things, most of which would probably bore you both to death. And this two-day delay would have been most dangerous to the city, I must say."

Helena took the bottle from Leonard and drank the contents, wincing. It tasted horrible, so it must have been good for her. Then some brain cells clicked together. "_Would_ have been?"

"Well, yes. I must say I am quite eager to hear why did you put the director of the Ankh-Morpork museum in a sub-let room in an alley off Cockbill street, especially given his health state. I must say this action strikes me as somewhat... disloyal, Miss Addler."

Helena stared at him – there was no other word for it. "You knew...? Already? But then why..."

"Naturally. You didn't expect me to just let you run freely around the city, performing vital tasks with no supervision whatsoever?"

She closed her eyes and counted to five. Gods, the man made her livid sometimes. Correction – all the time. "There were these two beggars that I've been seeing a lot lately..."

"Oh, I assure you it was all in your best interest, Miss Addler. And the city's, of course."

"Well, then I suppose you already had the director questioned and all's good and done," she said, with a little more venom than it was entirely wise. "So what do you want from me?"

"Oh, not much, Miss Addler. Rest now. If, in due time, you find it wise to unburden yourself as to the reason _why_ exactly did you make that decision, please come and see me. Goodbye."

Havelock Vetinari entered his office again and shut the bookcase passage noiselessly behind him. He slipped into his chair and picked up the quill pen, reaching for the next document on top of the paperwork file. When Drumknott came back to the office, he saw his master engrossed in his duties as always.

"Ah, Drumknott. Was the interview satisfactory?"

"Indeed, mu lord. I have the transcript right here," said the secretary, producing a few sheets of paper. "The director was rather shaken, weak and exhausted, but in good mental condition. That room was rather more comfortable than what could be expected by the address, I gather."

"I've no doubt of that, Drumknott. Given her character and her upbringing, I suppose miss Addler just wanted a place to call her own. So the director spoke at last, did he?"

"Yes, sir. He was quite verbose. Quite remorseful, too."

"Capital. And what he was remorseful _of_ was, let me see... The fact that he allowed for the Device to be taken from the museum by someone who claimed to represent the concerned dwarfish community. Something about the robbery of an important cultural artifact, spiritual symbol, ethnic outrage, that sort of thing. Unfortunately for the plotters, the director is a fair-minded man and meekly polite, too, so he... yes, he later wrote an official apology to the grags, who responded with surprise as they had nothing to do with the affair. Naturally, he had to be removed before he could put two and two together. I wonder why didn't they kill him?"

"Sir?" breathed Drumknott, shocked.

"Yes?"

"You haven't even read his statement yet!"

"Oh, I have no doubt it shall confirm my suspicions." Vetinari permitted himself a small smirk, seeing his secretary's face. "Evidence, Drukmknott, is very important in political and civic affairs. But first, you need to have some idea of what is going on, to know what to gather the evidence _of_."

Drumknott said nothing and contended himself with rearranging the paperwork one more time. He often thought he was beyond being surprised by his master, which of course only made him easier to surprise.

"Shall I schedule a meeting for the people he named, my lord, or are you going to deal with them in a more discreet manner?"

"Hmm?" Vetinari seemed distant for a while. Then he took the papers from Drumknott's hand and glanced over the names. "I don't think I want to see these gentlemen, Drumknott. One can only take so much outraged innocence. I think... I think the director should come back from his trip in a few days, healthy, relaxed and suntanned. Would you kindly see to it, Drumknott?"

"Yes, my lord." Drumknott scribbled a few things on the copy of the statement and bustled off.

The secretary gone, lord Vetinari put the paper on top of a neat pile in his desk, and took another, writing on it fastidiously. There was only a faintest of creaks as a window sash turned, but in a blink of an eye the Patrician turned around in his chair and looked up at a gray shape of Helena Addler, sliding into the room.

"Good morning, Miss Addler. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"You've got the director's statement," she said.

"Indeed."

"And the situation is under control."

"Yes. I see master Da Quirm had seen to your injuries most commendably."

"Yes, he had. He also said, um..."

"Yes, Miss Addler?"

"He said you were... checking up on me. I mean, visiting. And..."

This time Vetinari said nothing, merely looked at her over his fingers. She seemed in considerable distress, and trying very hard to collect herself and say something important, something personal. Looking around the room in a hurried attempt to avoid his gaze, her eyes fell on the Thud board. Of course, she knew he played Thud via the semaphore with Lady Margolotta, an Uberwaldian politician. Lady Margolotta...

He was still looking at her, saying nothing, his pale, blue eyes as usual having the effect of a cold, thin blade to the soul. But this time, there was an additional punch to the blow.

Lady Margolotta... How foolish of me, Helena thought, how delusional. A few visits don't really... He probably only hoped I'd speak sooner. That's it. That's all there is to it.

She took a deep breath, aware that her face is red and her eyes suspiciously moist. She took another deep breath and stood up.

"It really is rude to listen to people talk in their sleep, my lord. And I invite you to consider the fact that you have taken practically everything from me, and my privacy is all that I have left."

With that, she went to the window, opened it and climbed out. Havelock Vetinari was left alone in his office, and bent once more to his writing.

After a while, there was a click as a Thud piece changed position on the board. The Patrician did not turn his head, but a... change in the texture of the air told him Margolotta had faded into the foreground.

"Poor woman," she said. "You really have no scruples when your city is concerned, Havelock."

"Indeed," said the Patrician, dipping the pen in its inkwell and signing the document in front of him with one precise movement.

"Still, I really think it's cruel of you to play her emotions against her like that. Taking advantage of a girl's heart, that's really wicked," the lady continued. Her words were reproachful, but her tone and expression testified to a considerable amusement. She was looking hard at him as her hand absent-mindedly played with a little stone figure of a troll.

"My dear Margolotta," sighed Vetinari, "tyrants really do not play nice. Of all the people, I thought you understood." Perhaps he really _did_ need a badge that said 'tyrant', he thought.

"Oh, I do, Havelock, I really do. But it seems so... wrong, when the poor creature is so smitten with you." Again, her face showed no feeling of wrongness, but rather enjoyment.

As lord Vetinari finished with his paperwork and carefully wiped his quill pen, lady Margolotta put the stone troll back on the board and said, "Does she know how to use a door, you think?"

"What?" The Patrician seemed genuinely surprised this time.

"Well, she's always climbing up walls and slipping in through windows, crawling over the ceilings... Do you think she's been practising all that climbing so long she forgot how to use a door?"

It was a few seconds before the Patrician replied, in curiously low voice. "Oh, I see. You were talking about Miss Addler just now, were you?"

Lady Margolotta laughed. "Of course I was... who..." and her voice trailed off. Lord Havelock Vetinari, Patrician of Ankh-Morpork, said nothing – he only looked at her, with those pale blue eyes, the gaze of which was like a cold, thin blade to the soul.

**THE END**


End file.
